


Always Gold

by neverminetohold



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Romance, Slash, Slow Burn, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-03-14
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:13:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1312753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverminetohold/pseuds/neverminetohold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo finds his smial invaded by thirteen Dwarves and a Wizard, who think him a burglar and want him to steal from a dragon hoard. But not all that glitters is gold, as the Line of Durin should well know, and perhaps something more precious can be found along the way...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Gold

The water was stained crimson when Ragna was done cleaning her hands.  
  
She wiped them dry on her skirts, leaving dark stains on linen, and turned to pack up her things. Few crushed leaves were left of her herbal remedies, hastily gathered when a Dwarf had appeared on her doorstep.  
  
With her mother gone and no doctor available, the duties of midwife had fallen to her, and Ragna had done all she could, to the best of her sixteen years of knowledge.  
  
The room seemed almost eerie, now that it no longer echoed with screams. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, but it was winter and a storm raged outside, wind howling at the moon, and there was no window to be opened in the first place.  
  
“Have you thought of a name yet?” Ragna asked into the silence, only to bite her lip, fearing she had overstepped her bounds.  
  
“Fíli,” Dís answered, fighting tears to steady her voice. She adjusted her grip, shifting under the blankets that were heaped on her to fight off the chill. “His name is Fíli.”  
  
“A good Dwarven name, I'm sure.”  
  
Ragna glanced towards the bed, confused by the dwarrowdam's behavior. She looked so sad, holding the small bundle in her arms, despite the child being a boy and healthy, if a bit tiny. Strong lungs young Fíli had too, proven when he suffered his first bath, though he had fallen asleep readily enough, after suckling at his mother's teat.  
  
“And those golden tufts he has! I've never seen a fair-haired Dwarf before.”  
  
Dís choked down a noise. How cruel this child of Men was in its ignorance!  
  
But Ragna was not to blame, had no way of knowing what had befallen those of the Line of Durin ever since Erebor fell before a dragon, or right in this moment. The girl only knew a smith by the name of Thorin, who had settled down in her town three months ago, to provide food and shelter for his pregnant sister.  
  
“Yes,” Dís finally said, feeling faint for reasons other than blood loss and the ebbing pain, “he is quite special.”  
  
Ragna nodded, thinking how odd these mountain dwellers were, how different. Small and stout of body, with beards and beaded braids, no matter their gender, and a gruff sounding language only overheard by accident, for they kept it secret. Miners, mercenaries, and wandering blacksmiths.  
  
A ragtag bunch of thieves, her grandfather would say and scowl fiercely. He thought them rowdy and dangerous. As a preacher, he condemned their pride and lust for gold, and had been happy to hear that they would move to the Blue Mountains come spring.  
  
“I'll be leaving then. Don't hesitate to call on me again, should anything be amiss.”  
  
"Ragna."  
  
She turned, her little wooden box with herbs and bandages under one arm, and woolen cloak thrown over the other. "Yes?"  
  
"You have done me a great service tonight,” Dís said, freeing one hand to wipe away some strands of damp raven hair that tickled her upper lip. “Thank you, and be sure that I will not forget to reward you.”  
  
Ragna blinked, thinking that sounded quite grand. “You are welcome.”  
  
“Please send my brother in,” Dís called after her, already fearing Thorin's reaction.  
  
Ragna stepped into the kitchen. The only other room, aside from the forge, was crowded with three Dwarrows that sat waiting, tankards of ale and bowls with cooling soup set on the table before them.  
  
The one with tattoos on his bald head - having introduced himself as Dwalin - had come to get her, giving Ragna quite the scare, and the other she knew as Balin, because he visited at least once every month, laden with scrolls and wax-sealed parchments.  
  
“How is Dís?” Thorin immediately demanded to know, rising from his seat, knuckles white and nerves frayed after hours of waiting.  
  
The cries of wounded soldiers he had learned to endure, but hearing his sister in labor had touched old fears, reawakened the horror he had felt when he had cradled Frerin's cold body to his chest.  
  
“Your sister is well, Master Thorin,” Ragna hastened to reassure him, hearing how raw his voice was with worry. “She has given birth to a hale and hearty boy. She wishes to see you.”  
  
Thorin's smile then Ragna would not forget until her dying day, and no one could have blamed her for blushing. He was gone a moment later, pushing past without another word, and she chuckled at his eagerness.  
  
“He means 'thank you', my lass,” Balin said, giving her a wink, one hand stroking his white beard.  
  
Ragna smiled back. “I'm just glad to have been of help.”  
  
It was then that a vile curse and a string of Khuzdul startled all three of them. Balin paled and closed his eyes as if in sudden pain, muttering what must be a prayer. Ragna wanted to rush back in, fearing something might have happened to mother or child, but the Dwarf Dwalin caught her wrist and shook his head, grim and fierce.  
  
“Nothing to be done, girl,” he said, voice so gruff she did not dare protest. “I'll see you back home.”  
  
Ragna was herded out of the door, but not before she caught one last glimpse of Thorin: he stood on the bed-chamber's threshold, touching a curl of golden hair with a trembling finger, face dark with either grief or anger.  
  
Then she was outside, snow crunching under her shoes and wind pricking her skin, following Dwalin through the darkness.  
  
Ragna would never find out what had upset the Dwarrows so.


End file.
